


Shelter From the Storm

by Bedalk05



Series: Geralt Deserves Soft Things [15]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Found Family, Fuck Stegobor, Happy Ending, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury Recovery, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Psychological Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:21:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25057630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bedalk05/pseuds/Bedalk05
Summary: Jaskier meets Stregobor. Stregobor is used to getting what he wants. Geralt might slightly object to having his mate kidnapped though.Featuring protective Geralt, pack feels, healing, and lotsa cuddles.(Like most fics in this series, you can follow along without reading the previous parts)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Geralt Deserves Soft Things [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742950
Comments: 122
Kudos: 563





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Apieceofurmind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apieceofurmind/gifts), [Locktea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Locktea/gifts).



> This came from an idea I had from a comment apieceofurmind made on "Watch Me Bare My Claws" combined with a prompt by Locktea. I hope you enjoy!

Geralt and Jaskier are wandering through the streets of a village in Redania when Jaskier notices his wolf stiffen minutely. Following his eye line, Jaskier frowns at a portly and graying man looking down at Geralt from a tower, head tilted and wearing a vaguely amused expression. A chilling shudder runs down Jaskier’s spine. Something about that gaze...

Looping his arm through Geralt’s, Jaskier swiftly guides them to the left, exclaiming about some trinkets at a vendor’s cart. As they walk away however, Jaskier feels a piercing stare follow them, making the hair at the back of his neck stand on end. 

Leaning down to get a closer look at the charms, Jaskier murmurs, “Who was that man?” Geralt grunts, eyes flicking around the marketplace with rigid vigilance. Blowing out a sigh, Jaskier picks up a charm in the shape of a horse and drops some coin in the waiting vendor’s palm. “Talk at the inn?” he offers. Still scanning the crowd, Geralt gives a grunt of assent. 

It’s not until after Jaskier spends the afternoon washing and braiding Geralt’s hair that the last bit of tension seeps out of him and the witcher speaks. They’re sitting on their bed, facing each other while Geralt strokes Dandelion who is purring happily in his lap. Usually Jaskier would be the furry creature curled around Geralt when the witcher needs to get something off his chest, but the shifter has a suspicion he may need the ability to speak during this conversation. 

“His name is Stregobor,” Geralt starts, voice low and eyes trained on the cat rubbing contentedly against his palm. 

Silence falls over them again and Jaskier gives an encouraging hum as he mends one of Geralt’s tunics. Over the years he’s learned that Geralt needs silence when he’s trying to gather his thoughts. When on two legs, having something to do with his hands keeps Jaskier from attempting to fill it with his own idle chatter. 

Finally, that beautiful golden gaze flicks up to Jaskier, a haunted pain carved into Geralt’s face. “He was there at Blaviken.” Jaskier’s breath catches in his throat. Geralt has only talked about Blaviken once, and it was when he was utterly sloshed and Jaskier had shifted and curled up in his lap. But even then he only gave the barest details: that there was a mage who used him, that there was a girl named Renfri full of rage and pain, that he didn’t want to kill her.

“He wanted to cut her open,” Geralt rasps, eyes far away now. And oh how Jaskier longs to bring him back from that time he has drifted away to, how he longs to press a hand against Geralt’s cheek and whisper in his ear words of love and praise to erase that phantom pain in his eyes. 

But he knows Geralt needs to share this. “I refused.” Geralt swallows, his grip tensing in Dandelion’s fur before relaxing again after the cat releases a displeased meow. He breathes slowly, the rhythm of his breath matching his gentle strokes through the cat’s coat. “He got the townsfolk to turn on me.” Those lost, mournful eyes find Jaskier’s again. “You know the rest.”

Jaskier was wrong; he needs to be on four legs for this. Shifting, Jaskier shuffles across the bed before rubbing his head under Geralt’s chin with a whine. The witcher’s shoulders sag and he closes his eyes before shifting as well. Jaskier grins to himself as he takes in the great grey wolf now twining himself around the bard. After a winter under Jaskier and Marya’s guidance, Geralt’s control is growing. And what a relief that is; he’s only impulsively shifted in the middle of a fight a few times, and Jaskier was always on the edges of the hunt to join in with his sword or teeth if needed. 

Settling down onto the bed, Jaskier releases a happy huff as Geralt noses at the wolf medallion that remains around Jaskier’s neck during his shifts with the help of Yennefer’s magic. Jaskier attached the little horse charm to the cord as well, and Geralt nips at it playfully before settling down on the bed, resting his head upon the other shifter’s. 

As Geralt begins to relax, Jaskier’s mind races. He has always wondered how Geralt earned the name Butcher. And now it seems he knows who to blame. Jaskier knows better than to confront the mage, but that instinctual, feral part of him is howling for the shifter to protect his mate. Fuck, they need to get out of this village tomorrow; he doesn’t know how well he’ll be able to control his inner wolf if they run into that bastard. 

The next day, Geralt has slipped into a blacksmith’s shop to get some of his armor repaired and Jaskier is wandering aimlessly around the town while the witcher lectures the poor man on the proper way to fix it. Jaskier snorts at the rants Geralt will inevitably endure when Ewa notices the repair work on his gear. Even if the blacksmith does a good job, Ewa is sure to find some fault in it and insist she make some tweaks of her own. 

Thinking about Ewa only serves to strengthen that painful pull Jaskier feels toward his pack. Some days it’s nearly impossible to ignore and he needs to bite his cheek bloody to keep himself from shifting and gathering up all his scattered pack mates so they’re together again. Gods, and they’ve only just bid farewell to each other a month ago. But that simply makes it more difficult, the warmth of their den still fresh in Jaskier’s memory. 

Lost in his thoughts, Jaskier barely avoids running into the back of a man standing in the middle of the market. Veering out of the way with a muttered apology, Jaskier’s blood runs cold before it begins to boil as he takes in who he nearly collided with. Grey eyes peer at him disdainfully while a scornful nose turns down at Jaskier, making his hackles raise. “Little bard,” Stregobor hums with an air of disinterest, and _gods_ Jaskier wants to tear into this man’s throat with a fury he’s rarely experienced. The mage tilts his head. “Tell me, whyever do you waste your time gallivanting around the Continent with that butcher?”

Jaskier clenches his fists, maintaining the breathing exercises Marya taught him as a pup to keep from shifting out of strong emotion. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call Geralt a butcher if it’s all the same to you,” Jaskier says with forced politeness. 

Stregobor takes a deep breath through his nose before drifting closer to Jaskier with a greedy smile, making the shifter take a wary step back. “Surely someone with your...gift could do better than spend his days with such a beast,” the mage insists with a voice as sweet as poison. “I could use something like you.” 

A spike of fear twists in Jaskier's gut. He said some _thing._ What does he know? But any panic he should be feeling is overrun by the outrage at hearing his mate being called a beast. All his years of training can’t keep Jaskier’s fangs from slipping out slightly, and the spark of dark interest that grows in the mage’s eyes proves what a mistake it is. “Hate to disappoint but I’m not for sale,” he snarls. 

Stregobor only nods magnanimously before sweeping away. “Good day to you bard,” he calls out. “I’m sure we shall cross paths again." Stomach hollow from dread and fear, Jaskier turns and drifts towards the scent of his mate in a daze, itching to escape this place as soon as possible. 

He reaches Geralt just as the witcher pays for the repairs and collects his armor. Geralt takes one look at him before drawing Jaskier away into an alleyway. “What happened?” he hisses, frantically scanning Jaskier's body for any sign of injury.

Jaskier blinks up at Geralt, swallowing dryly. “Met Stregobor,” he says with a trembling smile. “He seemed quite interested in me.” The grip Geralt has on his arm tightens to the point of pain as his eyes blaze with fury. Before Geralt can storm away to hunt the mage down and get himself killed in the process, Jaskier presses a palm to his mate’s cheek. “Please my love, I wish to leave this town without any more stops.” 

His meaning is clear and now Jaskier waits as Geralt holds an inner debate with himself, eyes flicking rapidly. Finally the witcher growls, “I’ll ready Roach,” before stalking towards the stables, shoulders tense. Unwilling to part from his mate, Jaskier follows Geralt, glued to his side like a duckling. 

Once they arrive in the stable, Geralt strokes a steady hand down Roach’s mane, smiling when he gets an affectionate head butt for his troubles. Though Geralt puts on her tack, he throws most of their packs onto his own back. Their girl has been slowing lately, and it’s worrying them both. Once they find a town with an expert on horses, Jaskier is sure Geralt won’t hesitate to pour out all the gold in his pocket if they promise to help Roach. With a final pat, Geralt leads the mare out of the stable on foot and they set back on the Path. As they tromp out of town though, the hairs on the back of Jaskier’s neck rise again, and that sensation of being watched returns. 

Weeks pass without any sign of threat however, and Jaskier begins to laugh at his paranoia. Gods, he was acting like Lambert. So what if Geralt and that old mage have a history? That doesn’t immediately make Jaskier a target. 

Jaskier is shifted as he hunts for dinner while Geralt does the other sort of hunting, in this case, tracking down and clearing out a nekkers nest. As the scent of prey catches on the wind, Jaskier stiffens. There’s an unfamiliar smell too, the scent of something sickly sweet and rotten. 

Jaskier has no time to piece it together however before he feels the shot of a dart in his side. Growling, Jaskier moves to draw it out with his teeth but stumbles. His vision grows blurry while a figure in blooming dark robes strides toward him. As Jaskier’s eyes grow heavy, he faintly registers the shape of Stregobor crouching down before tilting his head with a hum. “Well you won’t be needing this anymore,” he says decisively, and as Stregobor waves his hand, Jaskier feels the pendant and chain Geralt made him fall from his neck. He tries to launch at the smirking mage in his fury but finds that none of his limbs work. And then...darkness. 

*******

Geralt has spent hours on this hunt to find nothing. It feels like he’s been going around in circles, following a trail that leads no where. He doesn’t understand how that can be. Raking a hand through his hair with frustration, Geralt blows out a heavy breath. Fuck it. He’ll try again tomorrow. 

Stomping back towards camp, Geralt imagines what Jaskier will do to ease Geralt’s tension. He’s sure that there will be a meal waiting for him and the meat will be the best in a hundred kilometer radius. After eating maybe Jaskier will braid Geralt’s hair while Dandelion purrs in his lap because fine, yes, he can admit that he likes the feeling of his locks being lightly tugged and twisted in his mate’s expert hands. 

A small smile crossing his face, Geralt strides into camp only to freeze. He takes in the scene rapidly. No fire, no meat, no Jaskier. Scenting the air, Geralt realizes with a drop of his stomach that Jaskier’s pine and honey scent is faded, as though it’s been hours since he’s last been there. Fully activating his senses, Geralt frantically follows Jaskier’s tracks, heart beating far too fast and loudly for a witcher. 

He doesn’t make it far before Geralt’s world tilts on its axis. Falling onto his knees, Geralt lifts up the broken pendant he carved for Jaskier and which Yennefer enchanted to stay on the bard even when he shifted. Jaskier would never take it off. 

Blinding fury begins to bloom through his chest, choking him and leaving Geralt breathless. The trail ends here which means only one thing: a fucking mage. As he makes his way back to camp, Geralt's legs feel disconnected from the rest of him and there is a strange buzzing in his ears. Geralt barely registers the plaintive meow by his feet as he digs for the xenovox Yennefer gave them last winter. “So Jaskier doesn’t need to drag you across the Continent next time you’re cursed,” she had remarked with a roll of her eyes when she handed it to them. 

Activating it, Geralt grits out, “Someone took Jaskier. Please.” He barely recognizes his voice as he sits down, staring at the enchanted object distantly. 

A moment later, Yennefer steps through a portal, violet eyes flashing to match a lethal looking gown. “Show me,” she demands. Though he hears her speak it’s as though there is cotton in his ears while the buzzing grows louder. Geralt lifts up the pendant with numb fingers and Yennefer hovers her hands over it, brow furrowed. “Where was he taken?” 

Geralt brings her silently to the spot where he found the pendant, and as she looks at the ground Yennefer hisses out a few creative swears. When she looks up at him grimly Geralt already knows what she’s going to say. “Stregobor.” 

*******

Jaskier wakes with a jolt as a bucket of water is dumped on him. “Wakey wakey little wolfy,” a voice like honeyed poison croons. Blinking his eyes open, Jaskier takes in the cramped room, bare of anything but a table with implements Jaskier would rather not learn the functions for. When he registers who the voice belongs to, Jaskier releases a growl and launches himself at the mage looming over him before releasing a yelp. Shocks coarse through his system and Jaskier writhes in agony as the mage looks on with cultivated disinterest. As the lightning through his veins ceases, Jaskier lays panting on the cold ground, fighting the urge to whimper.

Crouching down Stregobor smiles patronizingly at him. “Now there will be none of that little wolf,” he gently chastises, and hearing Geralt’s term of endearment for Jaskier cross those sadistic lips makes him want to snarl. But he waits, bides his time. No use testing the bastard's patience. 

Jaskier leans away as greedy fingers trace along the collar wrapped around Jaskier’s throat. “I gave you an upgrade little wolf. Do you like it?” he asks with a mocking tilt of his head. 

Headless of the consequences, Jaskier moves to bite the hand still touching him. Spots fill his vision as shocks sharp like a kikiomora’s talons pierce through him, more amplified than before. The physical pain is distant however to the agony in Jaskier’s heart. The pendant Geralt made for him never felt like a collar when he was shifted. It was a gift, a sign that he belonged to someone. But this new piece of leather feels like a choker as it shoots bolts of agony through every muscle, every limb. 

What does the sadistic fucker want with him? And where the fuck is Geralt? 

*******

Nothing. Between Yennefer’s tracking spells and Geralt’s enhanced senses something should have shown up but no. Nothing. Geralt fucking hates portals. It left a lingering trace of magic and nothing else. No leads. 

He’s about to punch a tree in his enraged hopelessness when Geralt recalls why he was apart from his mate in the first place. Trembling with barely restrained fury, Geralt stalks out of the woods and back to the village, Yennefer huffing to keep pace. “Don’t do anything stupid Geralt or you know Jaskier will give you a long lecture when we find him,” Yennefer cautions, peering into his stormy eyes. 

The promise of finding his mate warms the steel around Geralt's heart, but he disregards the rest of Yennefer's statement. If Geralt were the one kidnapped, Jaskier would do anything necessary to get answers. And Geralt will do the same. He tracks the alderman who posted for the nekker hunt in a tavern and without slowing his pace, drags the man by the hair and shoves him against the wall. “Who hired you?” Geralt demands, looming over the cowering man as he holds him by his tunic.

“Witcher! What is the meaning of this?” he stutters out. 

Geralt growls, shoving the fool harder against the wall, heedless of the armed villagers inching towards him. “There was no hunt,” he hisses. “It was a fucking set up. I’ll ask you one more time: who the fuck hired you and what did they say?”

“I’d recommend answering him unless you would like to lose a few limbs,” Yennefer remarks idly, eyes flashing. “You see, someone just kidnapped his mate. Witchers don’t take that kind of thing lightly.” 

Geralt’s nose flares at the scent of piss. Cowardly bastard. “Okay!” the alderman squeaks. “Please just don’t kill me!” 

Throwing the man onto a bench, Geralt plants his hands onto the table. “Start talking.”

“The man just said to post a contract for a nekkers nest and when a witcher arrives to tell him it’s in the woods,” the alderman stammers, shaking. “He slipped me gold and that was it, I swear!” he sobs. Ignoring the blubbering fool, Geralt slams his fist on the table. More nothing. Fuck. 

"What did the man look like?" Geralt growls, nails biting into the wooden table as he restrains himself from shifting. 

Terrified brown eyes peer up at him. "Um, short grey hair and a bit of a round stomach?" the alderman offers meekly. "Dressed sort of posh?" Getting all the confirmation he needed, Geralt draws back. "I'm sorry about your bard witcher, I didn't know what his intentions were," the man stutters, shrinking from Geralt’s glare. But he hardly notices, mind racing for a new plan. Geralt slowly clenches his fist before stalking out of the tavern, ignoring the stares in his wake. He'll find Jaskier even if he has to tear apart every bloody town on the Continent. 

*******

Jaskier learns very quickly that it’s a bad idea to try shifting. He doesn’t know what enchantments are in the collar but when his bones and muscles begin shifting there is some kind of force that pushes in the opposite direction until Jaskier is left gasping and trembling. The first time he attempted a shift Stregobor tsked with a shake of his head.“Silly wolf,” he crooned. “If I wanted you to be human I would make you shift myself.”

He's not sure how much time has passed since he arrived; there are no meals or windows to mark the days. All Jaskier knows is pain. If he knew what Stregobor was after perhaps it would make the torture somewhat bearable, but the bastard seems to find pleasure with watching Jaskier writhe and howl. Sadistic fucker. 

Jaskier blinks with blurry eyes as Stregobor strolls into the room with a needle and some vials. He tries to shrink back on the cold floor he’s lying on to no avail. A hand grabs onto the choker and drags Jaskier towards Stregobor as his claws skitter across the floor in an attempt to resist. “I'm sure you're wondering why I've kept you here little wolf," he begins, and like usual Jaskier snaps at the use of the name, yelping at the spark of pain he receives in response. "You see, at first I considered killing you for your insolence in the market,” Stregobor muses, unfazed by Jaskier’s fruitless struggles. “But when I realized you were a _shifter_ well-” Stregobor smiles sharply. “I knew I needed to own you.” 

Jaskier’s hackles go up as Stregobor strokes through his fur. The bastard has no right to touch him. “You see, shifters are so reclusive I’ve never been able to get my hands on one,” he explains conversationally. His eyes are bright with a manic light that makes Jaskier's fur stand on end. “The possibilities,” he says fervently. “With just a few vials of your blood I can create my own personal army of shifters.” Horror at Stregobor’s insinuation- that he would turn humans and enslave them- fills Jaskier’s chest. Fighting Stregobor’s grasp Jaskier snarls savagely, straining to bite and scratch on even a sliver of skin. 

The pain is too much this time, leaving Jaskier breathless, sightless, helpless. “But first, I think I want to play a bit more,” he hums. Jaskier releases an agonized howl as every nerve ending burns. Wanting to escape from the agony, Jaskier retreats deep into his mind, burying himself into his inner wolf. Soon the swirl of emotions dull. A wall draws up between Jaskier’s cowering mind and the pain, and it’s there he stays. 

*******

Geralt and Yennefer have stormed into every village they come across, describing Stregobor to anyone who would listen and even to those who won’t. Like the latest man Geralt has pinned to the wall. “I told ya witcher, I don’t know where your boy is and I don’t give a fuck,” the trembling man protests, avoiding Geralt’s eyes. 

Humming, Yennefer draws up to the pair, a wicked knife trailing along the man’s neck. “See, I think you do know,” she purrs. They followed Stregobor's trail from accounts by previous villages and it all leads here.

When the man still refuses to speak Geralt growls and casts Axii. He always gets a bad taste in his mouth when he uses this particular sign but desperate measures are called for at this point. “Tell me what you know about the mage Stregobor,” Geralt demands. 

The man’s eyes glaze over and he goes limp in Geralt’s grasp. “He has a hut on the outskirts of town by the stream. I go daily to drop off some food. He doesn’t want to be disturbed. We’re paid not to listen to the screams,” the man recites dully. For a brief moment red fills Geralt's vision and he moves to squeeze the bastard's throat so he can watch the light flicker from his eyes. But a soft touch on his arm and concerned violet eyes jolt him out of his reverie. 

Releasing a growl, Geralt tosses the man onto the alleyway floor and stalks away, Yennefer briskly walking beside him. They both are silent, fury boiling in their veins at this latest revelation. It’s taken all of Geralt’s willpower not to shift during their search, and that's no truer than right now. He can feel the wolf in him clawing to escape, to bite off the head of the man who dared touch his mate, but Geralt smothers it down. He needs to approach Stregobor strategically, rationally. 

But when a howl of agony sounds from the woods, Geralt's instincts take over and he shifts without a thought before racing toward his mate. Whoever caused him to make such a cry will take their final breath today. 

Crashing through the hut, Geralt finds himself immediately blown back by the flick of Stregobor’s wrist. Snarling when he witnesses Jaskier spasming as the mage draws his blood, Geralt launches himself at the bastard just to yelp as he hits the wall. When he stands, shaking himself out, Stregobor turns to look at him contemplatively. “And who might you be?” he asks, raising his hand to cast a spell. 

But before he can do so Yennefer bursts in, out of breath. Taking in the scene with an impatient flick of her gaze Yennefer huffs out, “Don’t run ahead next time you dolt.” 

Stregobor raises a brow. “Yennefer,” he drawls. “I knew that you liked to sleep around and play with scum but really? A witcher?” 

Yennefer’s smile is sharp as a knife. “Oh no Stregobor, turns out I’m not Geralt’s type. But see that wolf you got there?” Her smile wipes away to make room for single-minded fury. “He’s my pack. And I don't take kindly to those who touch my pack.” Furious winds howl through the tiny hut as the two mages launch into battle. 

Inching past them, Geralt whines as he takes in Jaskier’s state. He’s bleeding sluggishly in several areas and twitching as though experiencing aftershocks of some kind. _Mate?_ Geralt whines. Relief washes over him when blue eyes blink open, though they’re hazy with pain. _Mate?_ he prompts again, nosing at Jaskier’s neck. But the shifter just stares at him without recognition. As he prods at Jaskier, Geralt’s heart thuds to a stop. He’s not getting anything; no emotion, no memories, no thoughts. It’s like he’s communicating to an empty shell. 

Grief like he’s never experienced before, not when he was abandoned by the woman he called mother, not when he stared down at Renfri’s corpse, consumes his every thought. Turning to the mages still battling, tearing down the hut as they do, Geralt releases a savage growl before charging and tackling Stregobor, the man too distracted by Yennefer to react in time. 

Witchers aren’t supposed to kill sorcerers because they’re human. They only kill monsters. Blind with fury, Geralt tears into every piece of skin he finds, heedless of the agonized cries of the monster beneath him. 

The taste of blood does nothing to assuage the madness that grips his mind and heart, and he only ceases his attack when Yennefer’s face swims into view, a look of terror and worry on her face. "He’s dead Geralt, you can stop,” she urges. Looking down at the sightless eyes of the mangled body beneath him, Geralt steps off of the monster with a final snarl. 

Shifting back he hurries over to the wolf still lying prone. When he spots the collar around his mate’s neck, a new wave of fury on top of a trickle of hope grips him. Maybe that’s why Jaskier couldn’t communicate. When he reaches to remove it though Jaskier flinches away with a whimper. “Shh Jaskier it’s me. You’re safe,” he soothes, reaching out again. Though Jaskier still cowers, he doesn’t snap at Geralt as he attempts to remove it. But he finds he can’t. “Fucking magic,” he growls. 

Kneeling beside him, Yennefer stretches out a hand and with a pulse of magic the collar disintegrates. Shifting again, Geralt tries to communicate once more. _Mate?_ he calls eagerly. But fearful eyes gaze back while his words echo against emptiness. Panic and grief battle for dominance in his chest. This can't be it. Shifting back, Geralt swallows dryly. “I tried communicating with him, Yen. But there’s nothing. Like he’s not even there.” Fuck, a witcher’s voice shouldn’t crack like that. 

Closing her eyes, Yennefer reaches out but soon frowns. “I don’t understand,” she says slowly. “When I try to brush against his consciousness it’s like there’s a wall blocking my way.” 

“So he could still be in there?” Geralt asks, turning to Yennefer to look at her desperately. "Just behind the wall?" Yennefer returns his gaze, lips pressed tight. “I don’t want to make any promises. This is beyond my knowledge. We need to get him to Marya.” 

Action. Action Geralt can handle. “I’ll retrieve our horses. Can you portal us there?” 

He knows it’s a far distance and portaling so many creatures at once will be a strain, but Yennefer nods without hesitation. “Given Kaer Morhen’s defences I won’t be able to portal directly into the keep but I can get us to the Blue Mountains.” Geralt grinds his teeth. Spending one more moment without access to his mate is agony. But if she can bring them to the Blue Mountains, they will hopefully be that more closer to getting Jaskier back. 

*******

When Geralt and Yennefer walk through the keep coaxing a shifted Jaskier with them, Marya immediately knows that something is terribly wrong. Shifting, Marya trots up to Jaskier only to have him shrink from her and hide behind Geralt. _Pup?_ she inquires, trying to find that familiar brush of light against her consciousness. But there’s nothing. 

Fuck. Shifting back, Marya turns her burning gaze to the grim faces of Yennefer and Geralt while Vesemir wordlessly slips off his tunic to hand to her. “Tell me everything,” she barks as she tries to rein in the terror consuming her mind. 

As Yennefer and Geralt share all they know, they settle on the ground outside because Jaskier cowers at the prospect of entering any of the structures. Besides a hum of approval when Geralt grits out that he killed the mage, Marya remains silent. When they’re done Geralt stares up at Marya, gaze holding a desperation foreign in a witcher's eyes. “Please Marya. How do we fix this?” The shifter leans back, tapping her fingers against the cobblestones she sits upon as she fights the urge to shift and move near Jaskier. Though she longs to curl up beside her pup or at least run her fingers through his coat, Jaskier is on the outskirts of their group, head down and ears back. She's never seen him so skittish. Casting her worry for her pup aside, Marya attempts to approach the matter from an objective standpoint. 

The problem with being a lone wolf most her centuries is that Marya has had to learn everything on her own, by scouring the deepest corners of libraries to tracking down other shifters to engaging in a shit ton of trial and error. Well, trial and error it is. 

“Tell me Yennefer, you have the capability to read minds, yes?” When Yennefer nods Marya stands. “I’m going to shift. Try to read my mind when I’m in that form.” Shifting, Marya immediately feels a gentle brush against her mind before she returns to two feet, slipping her tunic and trousers back on. “Could you?” she asks with a raised eyebrow. 

The sorceress’ lips twitch. “You are quite adept at insulting and complimenting someone at the same time,” she reflects. 

Marya allows the shadow of a smile to flash across her face before it flickers away. “I still haven’t forgotten the stunt you pulled this past Autumn but I appreciate all you did to help my pup.” 

“Will you get to the point?” Geralt snarls, rising and pacing like a caged beast. 

Marya watches him passively, bristling with irritation. Impatient pup. Ignoring Geralt’s outburst Marya turns back to Yennefer. “You can’t read the minds of animals, can you?” When Yennefer shakes her head Marya hums, resuming her steady tapping. Turning to Geralt she inquires, “Jaskier has told you we descend from wolves, did he not?” 

Growling, Geralt glares at her. “What does that have to do with anything?” he snaps, jolting at the whine off to the side. Turning to Jaskier, Geralt moves to the whimpering wolf only to halt when the shifter backs away, tail between his legs. Guilt and despair line his face as Geralt’s shoulders slump and head bows. “Yes,” the witcher rasps. “He told me.” 

Flicking her eyes up at the considering gaze of Yennefer Marya prompts, “When you tried reaching his mind you described it as a wall you couldn’t pass, correct?” At Yennefer’s nod Marya blows out a steady sigh. She draws her legs up so her feet are planted and her arms dangle over her knees. Studying the stones Marya states bluntly, “We know he was tortured by that monster. To cope with the pain Jaskier may have retreated deep into the recesses of his mind, to the more primitive aspects of himself.” 

“How do we pull him out?” Geralt asks. 

Marya turns to the witcher grimly. “I don’t know.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt has Jaskier back with him but Jaskier isn't really _back._ How do you heal someone you can't even reach?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me! I know this isn't my usual fluffy fare but I promise it will be slipping into more familiar territory moving forward. Also, it's a shock I know, but I upped the chapter count. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone leaving comments and kudos! <3

A darkness the keep hasn’t experienced since Jaskier first came strolling through its gates falls upon it once again. After the first night they arrived, Yennefer leaves again, probably to return to whatever Geralt dragged her away from all those weeks ago. Meanwhile Geralt, Vesemir, and Marya try everything to help Jaskier recover. Since the shifter still refuses to enter the quarters, they have dragged out the rugs and trinkets from the pack room so they can sleep under the stars with the wolf. Marya was also hoping the scents of his pack could help guide Jaskier back. Although Jaskier sniffed the rugs Marya and Vesemir wove last spring and wagged his tail lightly, when Geralt and Marya tried prodding him they still got nothing. 

“It doesn’t make sense,” Geralt mutters one night as he glumly watches the wolf curled up by himself. Marya and Geralt have tried approaching him in their shifted forms but he only cowers away like he does when they’re human too. Even when Dandelion tried to help, Jaskier bared his teeth at the cat. Geralt hasn’t seen him since. It’s a miracle Yennefer and Geralt even got Jaskier to come with them; something deep in the shifter must still see them as pack despite it all. “Jaskier was able to communicate with me even when I was more wolf than man. How is this any different?” 

Marya hums, staring into the makeshift fire pit they’ve created to ward off the lingering spring evening chill. “An injured animal is a far different beast.”

“But he’s nearly healed!” Geralt bursts out, trying to keep his voice low so as not to startle Jaskier. (He never wants Jaskier to look afraid of him like he did when they first arrived at the keep.) 

Marya turns those blue eyes so similar to Jaskier’s towards Geralt. “You of all people should know the more difficult wounds are often in the mind,” she says gently. Geralt slumps, staring down at the stick he holds in his hands. He’s about to toss it in the fire when he has an idea. Turning to where Jaskier watches them warily, Geralt throws the stick. Though the shifter’s ears twitch with interest, he whines and shrinks instead of chasing after it. Geralt blows out a disappointed sigh. It was worth a try. 

Geralt straightens however when familiar scents drift on the breeze: rain and vanilla, cinnamon and spice, lemon and metal, and lilacs and gooseberries. Jumping up, Geralt races across the courtyard, skidding to a stop when he sees the procession that greets him. They’re all there. Eskel and Kamil, Aiden and Lambert, Ciri and Ewa and even Leon. Turning to Yennefer who looks close to collapsing from exhaustion Geralt croaks, “Why?” 

Shooting him a tired smile, Yennefer shrugs. “He needs his pack.” 

Geralt surveys the expressions of the group, ranging from worried to grim to murderous, though that last one is mainly Lambert. “The bastard’s dead?” Lambert confirms. Geralt can only nod dumbly. Grunting with satisfaction, Lambert leads the group to the center of the courtyard where the makeshift sleeping quarters have been arranged. Marya and Vesemir look up with surprise when they see who arrived, but Jaskier whines before backing away.

“Hey cousin,” Kamil whispers with a watery smile. Lambert shifts restlessly, hands clenching into fists as he stares wide-eyed at the cowering creature. He only relaxes minutely when Aiden grasps the back of his neck and murmurs something too low for even Geralt’s ears to pick up. Ciri is wrapped around Ewa while Eskel and Leon only look on grimly. 

“Don’t crowd him,” Geralt grunts as he finally recovers from the shock of having his whole pack there. “Unload yourselves and then join us.”

“Sorry my pups if you’re hungry, but I haven’t gotten to make any biscuits recently,” Marya says ruefully. And if that didn’t sum up how dire this situation has been, Geralt doesn’t know what could. 

That night as they all pile together in various formations, Geralt discreetly watches Jaskier’s head tilt curiously, nose twitching to take in the mingling scents. Closing his eyes, Geralt prays to the gods he doesn’t even believe in. Please let this work. 

*******

As Geralt and Eskel groom their horses the next day, Eskel eyes Roach. “Damn what are you feeding her Geralt?” he remarks with raised brows. 

Turning to glare at his brother Geralt growls, “You calling my horse fat?” 

Raising his hands defensively Eskel chuckles, “I wouldn’t dare,” before returning to stroking Scorpion. Geralt bristles however when Scorpion leans over to nuzzle Roach. He may have allowed some platonic touching since last winter but Geralt will be damned if he lets that bloody horse leer at his girl. 

“Tell your horse to stop eyeing Roach,” Geralt grumbles, rubbing his girl’s nose and smiling slightly when she butts his head.

“Geralt, I know this is new to you but I don’t actually speak horse,” Eskel says dryly. After grumbling a bit more, a companionable silence falls upon the pair as they return to the care of their steeds.

When Marya strides in to inform them that dinner is ready a few minutes later she halts. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me your horse was pregnant Geralt?” she exclaims. 

Turning to Marya with a sense of impending doom Geralt croaks, “What?” 

Rolling her eyes and muttering something that sounds suspiciously like “men,” Marya slips into Roach’s stall. “Oh you’re far along my girl,” she remarks, feeding the horse some oats. 

“I’m sorry but _what??_ Geralt repeats, distantly surprised that his voice can go that high. 

Turning to arch a brow at Geralt, Marya informs, “I'd say she’s nearly 11 months on, just about ready to give birth.” Beyond the distant screeching in the back of his mind, Geralt frantically traces their travels backwards to figure out _how the fuck this could’ve happened._ 11 months. That would’ve been this past summer. Well, Roach wasn’t near any horses except for- 

Geralt’s mind screeches to a halt. Except for Scorpion the night Jaskier got drunk and decided to shift when they ran into Eskel and Kamil. Turning jerkily to Eskel Geralt rumbles menacingly, “You. Got. My. Baby. Girl. Pregnant!” Before launching himself at his brother. Tumbling down, they soon find themselves rolling out of the stables as Geralt does his very best to smother his brother. “I’m gonna geld your horse. And then I’m gonna geld _you!”_ Geralt pants as Eskel grapples for the upperhand. Damn Eskel’s fucking bear-like physique. 

“How the fuck am _I_ involved?” Eskel protests while Geralt rolls and pins him to the ground.

“He’s your horse,” Geralt grunts, dodging a blow to the gut.

“Oh and I just stuck his cock into Roach now did I?” Outrage at Eskel’s vulgarity consumes him and Geralt works to choke Eskel with renewed fury. “You will respect my girl’s virtue!” he howls. 

As they witness Geralt attempt to kill Eskel Ciri grouches, “Geralt wasn’t this overprotective of me.” Staring at Ciri as memories of the hours Ewa spent under the witcher’s interrogations flash before her eyes she says faintly, “Thank the gods.” 

Geralt rears up to punch his insolent brother in his dumb face when he hears a confused whine. Whirling to the side, Geralt stares at familiar blue eyes watching the fight. Jaskier is rarely seen around the keep during the day, only slinking into the makeshift den at night like he can’t help gravitating towards the pack even if he doesn’t fully understand why. 

Unwilling to pass up this opportunity, Geralt shifts before walking slowly towards the shifter, ears back and head low in an act of non-intimidation. _Mate?_ he calls out tentatively, brushing against Jaskier’s consciousness. Tilting his head, Jaskier eyes Geralt warily but doesn’t shrink away this time. Hope blooming in his chest as Jaskier doesn’t flinch at their proximity, Geralt noses gently along Jaskier’s neck, heart aching at the empty line where Jaskier’s pendant used to be. _Mate?_ Geralt prompts again more insistently this time. Hesitantly, Jaskier turns so he nuzzles Geralt’s neck furtively before backing swiftly away with wide eyes. 

As the shifter slinks off, Geralt plops onto his arse, blinking dumbly. He returned the gesture. He fucking responded. Geralt can feel his tail wag but for once he doesn’t feel self-conscious about it. Being near his pack is working. Fuck, it’s working. 

As usual, they eat dinner outside, unwilling to leave Jaskier alone. As the shifter gnaws on a leg at the edge of their circle Geralt glares at Eskel while he tears into his meat. “Will someone please explain to my dullard of a brother that it is not my fault if my horse found Roach appealing?” Eskel says exasperatedly. Geralt’s next bite is slightly more vicious than the last. 

Cackling from where he’s leaning against Aiden Lambert gasps, “Please Eskel, keep talking. I want to see how red we can make Geralt’s face.”

“I’m sorry but I’m feeling like I missed something,” Leon remarks, turning an inquisitive brow to Kamil who’s snuggled between him and Eskel. 

“Well Leon, last year we ran into Geralt and Jaskier but Jaskier was slightly sozzled and shifted in his excitement to see us,” Kamil explains with a grin. “Unfortunately, while we were distracted preventing a very drunk shifter from attempting to chase a rabbit and thus run into a tree, Scorpion and Roach were left unattended.” 

Lips twitching at that imagery paired with the memory of what Geralt was like as a drunk wolf in winter, Leon leans to look at Eskel. “And this is your fault because…?” 

“Because my brother is more overprotective of his horse than anyone in this keep and by me owning Scorpion his deranged mind views me as equally culpable,” Eskel says with a roll of his eyes, making Geralt’s glower darken further. As they debate about who should be blamed for a horse sticking his sausage where it doesn’t belong, they miss the wolf who is slinking around the circle to where Marya has shifted and is lying in Vesemir’s lap. 

Marya blinks open an eye when the scent of her pup draws closer. She thumps her tail invitingly as Jaskier stands indecisively at the edge of the circle. Though she wants to launch herself and twine them together, Marya forces herself to stay where she is, posture relaxed. Glancing nervously at his various pack mates, Jaskier edges closer to Marya until he can scent her. Marya returns the gesture with a low rumble, pressing her love and adoration for her pup towards him and praying he’ll receive it. To her relief, Jaskier begins nosing more insistently at Marya. Slipping off of Vesemir, Marya rubs her head under Jaskier’s neck, wagging her tail when he does the same. 

“Little wolf?” Geralt rasps, eyes burning with hope. Flinching at the name, Jaskier backs up with his tail between his legs, whining pitifully before slipping off into the night. Collectively, everyone breathes out a disappointed sigh except for Geralt whose face slowly crumples.

“He’s coming ‘round Geralt. Give him some more time,” Vesemir encourages gruffly. Geralt doesn’t respond, turning back to his meal. He doesn’t speak for the rest of the evening.

*******

The next morning Lambert looks at the sky with a critical eye. “Storm’s coming,” he grunts. “We should bring all the rugs and shit inside so they don’t get soaked.” 

Recalling what happened the last time Lambert predicted a storm and they all scoffed at him, everyone works to bring everything back inside. With the arrival of Leon and Alloy, Dandelion has reappeared and is quite unhappy with the removal of his current bed. To make his disapproval known, Dandelion stubbornly clings onto the rug Eskel is dragging back inside. Geralt is too busy fretting over Roach to help them, which is probably a good thing. Eskel isn’t looking forward to another fight for his life against an overprotective father. 

Grinning down at the cat from where he’s carrying some pillows, Kamil shifts so he can nudge at Dandelion. At the appearance of another fluffy thing, Dandelion begrudgingly removes his claws and clambers onto the fox shifter instead. Picking one of the pillows back up with his teeth, Kamil trots inside with his new passenger preening on his back. Eskel chuckles, shaking his head as he follows the pair. He recalls a very similar scene last winter after Dandelion and Jaskier engaged in a “wrestling” match. Gods, he hopes Jaskier comes back to them soon. 

They barely finish dragging in the final item when the skies open and it starts pouring. ”How the fuck do you predict this shit?” Ewa asks Lambert with a shake of her head from where they're taking shelter under an eave. 

“I’m a man of many talents,” Lambert boasts with a puff of his chest. 

“Eh, I wouldn’t go that far,” Ciri comments, nudging Lambert’s shoulder with a smirk. Shoving at the squirt with a grin, Lambert hooks an arm around Ciri’s neck and messes with her hair, ignoring her outraged squawks. Their good humor fades though when they spot Geralt exiting the stables only to stare off into the woods. They haven’t seen Jaskier since he ran off last night, and now with the storm it’s hard to know if he’ll make an appearance this evening. Leaving the couple to do whatever people disgustingly in love like to do together, Lambert walks up to where Geralt is slouched in the courtyard, already drenched to the skin. Without turning to him Geralt mumbles, “Don’t want him alone in this storm.” 

“He’s a big boy Geralt, he’s survived worse,” Lambert snorts. He swallows when mournful eyes turn to him. Right away Lambert feels his resistance crumble. Gods, he’s getting soft. Rolling his eyes Lambert grumbles, “Fine let’s go find your loverboy.” They make their way into the woods, blinking rain out of their eyes as it comes down in torrents. Though they are tempted to call out for Jaskier, the shifter has proven to startle at loud noises. So instead, the two witchers trod silently through the woods, seeking out the familiar russet-colored coat. A crack of thunder makes Lambert swear. If Jaskier doesn’t like them shouting, thunder must terrify him. 

Enhancing their senses, Lambert and Geralt follow Jaskier’s trail until it leads to a hovel behind a downed tree. Lambert’s heart squeezes as he spots the cowering figure curled up into himself and shaking pitifully. At the snap of a stick underfoot, vibrant blue eyes open and peer fearfully up at them. “Hey little wolf,” Geralt murmurs, crouching down. His face falls when Jaskier whines and shrinks away from him. Lambert frowns. He reacted poorly last night too when Geralt spoke, but Jaskier has lingered near him other times the big oaf speaks. The only pattern is that cutesy name Geralt has called Jaskier for ages. 

Fury consumes Lambert when a hypothesis forms in his head. Fuck. He wishes Geralt left a piece of that bastard for him to rip into. 

As Geralt falls to his knees with his head down in defeat, Lambert saunters over and plops onto the damp grass. “Hey there Songbird,” Lambert says, casually playing with a nearby stick. “Can’t be too comfortable lying outside in all of this rain.” Another crash of thunder makes Jaskier close his eyes with a whimper, his trembling increasing. Huffing out an impatient sigh, Lambert scoots forward until he’s in arm’s reach of the wolf. “Don’t bite my hand now,” he warns, as he slowly brings his hand onto that drenched fur. 

Jaskier opens his eyes, watching Lambert warily but not flinching away. As Lambert’s fingers brush against Jaskier’s fur, the shifter releases a low whine, eyes widening slightly. “See? Not too bad gettin’ touched sometimes,” Lambert says softly, stroking through the fur that Jaskier offered so freely the first winter they met. If Jaskier could be patient and welcoming to Lambert then the least Lambert can do is try not to act like a dick now. Besides, only Geralt is here and no one will believe the git if he tries to spread slander about how Lambert is growing soft. 

Lambert brings his second hand into the action, ruffling the wet fur and scratching behind Jaskier’s ears. Jaskier lifts his head, ears twitching. “So what do you say Songbird? Wanna get dry?” Lambert asks with a raise of his brow. Jaskier tilts his head questioningly before yelping at another crash of thunder. Rising, Lambert nods towards the keep. “C’mon you stubborn wolf. We’ll warm you up.” 

Realizing Jaskier may not fully understand, Lambert starts making his way back to the keep, hoping Jaskier will follow. Grabbing the miserable oaf from where he’s sinking into some mud, Lambert starts dragging Geralt away too. It speaks to Geralt’s despair that he allows himself to be manhandled without protest. After a couple of steps, Lambert discreetly glances behind himself, smiling at the wolf trailing behind them. Mission accomplished. 

It takes a lot of extra coaxing and witnessing Geralt and Marya shift and willingly enter the dining hall, but eventually Jaskier creeps in, shaking as he does. The hearth is already crackling away merrily and all of the rugs had been dragged here for now. Vesemir and Ewa are working on dinner while Leon and Eskel teach Kamil how to play Gwent at the table. Aiden and Ciri are sharpening their swords as they chat quietly in the corner. 

Grinning to himself, Lambert strolls up to Aiden and plasters himself onto the Cat. Yelping like a wet cat, Aiden glares at the drenched witcher wearing a shit-eating grin. Recovering quickly, Aiden’s eyes spark with a dangerous light, making Lambert shiver. “You’re gonna pay for that later kitten,” Aiden says darkly. 

"Promises promises,” Lambert drawls. 

Releasing a disgusted noise, Ciri stands up and walks away, sheathing her sword. “You two are so gross,” she mutters. Lambert turns to make a retort but pauses when he spots Jaskier. The wolf is inching his way closer to the fire, glancing furtively around after each step as though to make sure he’s permitted. Meanwhile, Geralt looks on with a look like a kicked puppy. Lambert lets out a long sigh. He has to do everything here. 

Walking up to the miserable git Lambert grumbles, “He isn’t scared of you Geralt. He’s scared of that name you call him.” Several emotions flash across Geralt’s face as he turns to stare at Lambert- shock, fury, despair- but he ultimately lands on tentative hope. Rolling his eyes Lambert shoves at him. “Try approaching him again.” And turning away, Lambert follows the scent of Marya’s biscuits. With the pack returning and Jaskier slowly coming out of his shell, Marya found the time and motivation to bake again. Lambert is getting on it before Vesemir can sneak away half of the treats to his secret stash again. He is gonna find that bloody stash again one day. 

Geralt watches Jaskier creep all the way to the rug by the hearth, dripping along the floor and shivering at each boom of thunder. With a final survey of the room, Jaskier lowers himself on the rug and curls up into a ball. Lambert’s observation echoing in his head, Geralt walks slowly up to his mate before crouching down again. Jaskier watches him with timid eyes, ears tucked back. “Hey-” Geralt has to swallow his next words. “Hey Jaskier,” he says instead. Relief crashes through him when Jaskier doesn’t shrink away this time. Knee walking across the remaining distance, Geralt reaches out a hand before stopping. Despite the driving urge to wrap the cowering shifter in his arms, Geralt needs Jaskier to make the first move. He can’t scare him away again. 

The shifter stares at Geralt’s hand for a long moment and then lifts his eyes to Geralt’s face. When Geralt only shoots him a strained smile, Jaskier stretches out his neck slowly before pressing his nose to Geralt’s palm. The tension he has been carrying since the previous night falls away like the crumbling walls of an ancient tower. Gently, Geralt rubs his hand along Jaskier’s muzzle, watching for any signs of distress. When a tail tentatively thumps against the ground, Geralt slowly scoots closer, trailing his hand along Jaskier’s back. As he does, the shifter doesn’t take his eyes off of Geralt’s face, blue gaze piercing and curious. 

The rumble starts quietly before increasing in volume with every stroke of Geralt’s hand. Geralt’s eyes widen at the sound, elation spreading through his chest as he listens to the obvious sign of Jaskier’s contentment. When the thunder booms again, Jaskier whimpers but instead of cowering away, presses into Geralt’s touch. “I got you little-little lark,” Geralt swallows. “I got you.” 

That night, everyone piles around the hearth, leaving space between them and Jaskier so he doesn’t startle. As they settle, Jaskier watches from where he is curled against Geralt’s leg. Slowly, he rises before creeping around the pile while everyone pretends to not be watching him like hawks. He first approaches Lambert from where the witcher is petting Dandelion and lying on Aiden’s lap, feet propped up on Eskel’s. 

Lambert freezes mid-insult as the wolf sidles up to him and rubs his head tentatively against Lambert’s neck. “Heya Songbird,” Lambert says softly, gazing into curious blue eyes. His smile is immediately wiped away however when a tongue laps across his face. Sputtering, Lambert protests lightly, “What have I said about the slobber?” In response, Jaskier simply repeats the gesture before head butting Aiden and moving on to where Yennefer has her head rested on Lambert’s chest. 

“If you lick me I will hex you without any qualms,” Yennefer says mildly with a raised brow. She can’t tell if the slobbering tongue that’s swept across her face next indicates that Jaskier understands her and is being his usual self or not. Using Lambert’s tunic to wipe off the slobber Yennefer groans, “I will make you pay dearly for that whether you know what you’re doing right now or not.” Releasing a huff, Jaskier clambers over Yennefer to get to Eskel. 

Cocking his head, Jaskier nuzzles and licks along Eskel’s scar, making the witcher blink up at him. “Hey Jaskier,” Eskel murmurs, stroking gently through some fur as his eyes glow with hope. 

Turning to where Kamil is curled under Eskel’s arm and watching the interaction, Jaskier butts his head against Kamil’s chest. “Right back atcha cuz,” Kamil grins. 

Stepping daintily over Kamil and Eskel’s tangled legs, Jaskier makes his way to where Ewa, Ciri, and Leon are curled up on the other side of Eskel, Alloy purring between them. Jaskier beelines to Ciri, sniffing her curiously before tugging lightly on her hair three times with confused eyes. Ciri’s eyes fill. “I love you too Jask,” she croaks. 

Leon watches as Jaskier nuzzles lightly against Ewa’s neck, expecting the shifter to move on. After all, Leon has only known Jaskier for a few months, and they met after he threatened Ciri’s life. Not the best circumstances for forming a bond. He’s that more surprised then when Jaskier licks a wet tongue along Leon’s face. Disguising the surprised joy Leon experiences at the gesture, he looks at the shifter with a wry smile. “Thanks, I think?” 

Jaskier’s final stop is to Vesemir and Marya. Rubbing against Vesemir’s lingering winter stubble, Jaskier turns to Marya with a whimper, snuffling along the crook of her neck. “Good to have you with us again pup,” Marya rasps, throat tightening. Giving into the need to be closer to her son, Marya shifts, twining around Jaskier and sending pulses of warmth, love, _relief_ towards him. At this point, Marya is used to not receiving any response back, which is why her breath catches when she feels the faintest brush of images and feelings. Though the message is convoluted, the meaning is clear. _Pack?_

Marya’s heart that has been in tatters since her pup came creeping through the gates of the keep with frightful eyes starts to piece back together. Pressing her head along Jaskier’s neck Marya responds fervently, _Yes. Pack. Home._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes all it takes is a little patience, a little time, and a whole lotta love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for those of you who have given kudos/comments so far! I hope you enjoy the final chapter of this story arc :-)

The next morning Geralt watches with an overwhelming sense of hope when Jaskier doesn’t slip off into the woods again. Instead, he follows around the various members of the pack curiously, as though trying to link together pieces of a puzzle. Currently, Jaskier is trailing after Geralt as he slips into the stable. Geralt still hasn’t fully accepted the fact that his girl is pregnant and about to have a child but Marya is helping Geralt prepare. 

When Jaskier enters the stable after him the shifter makes an inquiring sound before trotting right up to Roach’s stall. Standing on his back legs, the shifter places his paws on the door so he can reach up and butt against Roach’s head. Jaskier barely gave Roach a second glance when they were traveling to the keep before. Geralt grins at this latest evidence of Jaskier returning to himself. 

Roach returns the gesture fondly before shifting restlessly. When she begins to paw the ground and nip at her sides, the bottom of Geralt’s stomach drops out. “MARYA!” he bellows, stumbling in his hurry to find the shifter. “Marya it’s HAPPENING! What the fuck do I do?!” Sure, Marya walked him through the signs of when a mare is about to give birth and the basics of what to do next but it’s one thing hearing it over some biscuits and tea and another thing to be smacked with the reality of it all. 

Several heads scattered around the courtyard pop up with amusement while Marya hurries out of the dining hall, pulling off her apron and throwing it at Lambert who’s hit in the face. “Eskel, with me,” she says briskly. 

Geralt fumes with a nauseating mix of panic and anger. “Oh no, that bastard isn’t stepping one foot near my girl,” he hisses, stepping to block Eskel’s way. 

Crossing her arms Marya looks at Geralt skeptically. “Do you believe you will be calm and rational enough to help me with the birth then?” she demands. Geralt rolls his eyes. What does this woman take him for? He’s a bloody witcher; they’re trained to emotionally detach and he’s witnessed far more disgusting things than a horse giving birth. 

Five minutes later he finds himself unceremoniously thrown out of the stable. “Vesemir, restrain your foolish pup before I lose my patience and bite him somewhere unpleasant,” Marya growls, grabbing Eskel and tugging him inside. Shaking off the horrifying imagery of what an actual birth looks like, Geralt snarls as the man responsible for his girl’s pregnancy strolls right in. It takes the combined strength of Vesemir, Lambert, and Aiden to keep him from charging back to protect Roach. 

Legs kicking uselessly as the three witchers draw him back Geralt bellows, “If he lays one hand on her I swear I’ll throttle him!” 

He blinks a moment later when something soft and fluffy is planted on his shoulder. “A wise yet idiotic man once said, ‘Pet the damn cat and calm the fuck down,’” Ewa says dryly as she picks up Alloy to place him on Geralt’s other shoulder. Geralt finds the fight in him giving out as both cats rub their faces against his cheeks. Shooting a final look back at the stable, Geralt releases a long sigh. He knows better than to earn Marya’s ire; even though it’s not winter Biscuit Privileges and the threat of losing them are still in full effect. 

Settling down in front of the stable doors, Geralt stares intently at where his girl is giving birth, petting the piles of fluff as he does so. He startles when a wet nose presses against his hand a moment later. Looking down, Geralt blinks into timid blue eyes. “Jaskier,” he breathes, reaching out to run a hand through the russet coat. When Dandelion releases a hiss, Jaskier cocks his head at the cat. Their last encounter wasn’t the most pleasant. Leaning down, the shifter sniffs Dandelion, whining when he gets a claw to the face. Grabbing the cat by his scruff, Geralt glares at him. “Listen little flower, you will treat your father with respect, even if he growled at you once.” 

Placing the cat back in his lap firmly, Geralt scratches his ears before turning to Jaskier once again. The shifter is whimpering, ears peeled back as he looks at Dandelion with mournful eyes. After a tense moment, Dandelion slips off of Geralt’s lap, assessing Jaskier with a swish of his tail. When he takes a step forward, the shifter cowers back. Meowing insistently, Dandelion stalks up to the frozen wolf before rubbing his head along Jaskier’s leg. Jaskier stares down at the small creature before hesitantly touching a nose to Dandelion’s side. When he’s not swiped at this time, Jaskier's tail starts to wave tentatively. 

As Jaskier plops onto the ground, resting his head on Geralt’s knee, Dandelion clambers onto the shifter's back with a purr. Geralt simply looks on, speechless. How many times have the three of them sat in this identical position? Fuck, Jaskier’s actually coming back to them. 

Apparently satisfied that Geralt decided against forcing himself back into the birthing room, Lambert and Aiden drift off to do some sparring while Vesemir slips into the stall to offer an extra hand. Even with three furry bodies to keep Geralt occupied though, the wait for the stable doors to reopen is agonizing. When they finally burst open and Vesemir nods him in, Geralt jumps up in his eagerness, receiving several unhappy yelps in response. Muttering mindless apologies, Geralt hurries inside and beelines to Roach who’s resting in a pile of hay full with fluids he would rather not think about for too long. “Hey girl,” he murmurs, kneeling down and sliding Roach’s head into his lap. Roach huffs out an exhausted sigh and Geralt places a soft kiss to her head. 

Glancing up, Geralt watches Marya and Eskel wash off the newest member of the keep. “She did good,” Vesemir grunts, patting Roach’s flank.

“Of course she did, she’s Roach,” Geralt responds absentmindedly, unable to peel his eyes away from the foal trying to stand on quivering legs. A beautiful gold, its dark eyes are only just opening and it looks so damn delicate. Fuck. 

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a filly,” Marya observes. “Good, we need more women in this keep.” As Eskel looks at the foal with open adoration, Geralt feels some of his ire for his brother disappear. He knows rationally it’s not actually Eskel’s fault that Roach got pregnant but it’s easier to blame someone who can talk than a horse who won’t understand why you’re yelling at them. And it’s very possible Geralt has been slightly more tense than usual with everything going on with Jaskier. Thank the gods Eskel is the mild-mannered one of the pack. “So? What are you gonna name her?” Eskel asks. 

Geralt eyes the horse for a long moment before nodding as he makes his decision. “Roach Jr,” he announces, blinking at the matching appalled looks shot his way. Eskel’s expression soon melts to make way for delighted cackles however. “What?” Geralt scowls.

It takes Eskel several moments to catch his breath enough to respond. “Oh-I’m just imagining the rant Jaskier will launch into when he learns you’ve named another poor horse Roach,” he gasps. Despite himself, Geralt finds his lips twitching at the prospect of Jaskier’s utter outrage. Certainly something to look forward to, hopefully sooner rather than later. 

Geralt doesn’t leave the stable for the rest of the day, dedicated to showering his girl with praise and getting acquainted with the filly. While Roach was giving birth, the other horses were removed from the stable, but later that afternoon Vesemir and Eskel bring them back. As Scorpion plods inside and approaches the filly with interest, Geralt steps between them, baring his teeth. “Back off bastard,” he snarls. 

Rolling her eyes, Marya drags Geralt away by the ear. “Let him greet his damn foal you insolent pup,” she sighs. Geralt only grumbles, crossing his arms as he vibrates with tension. When Scorpion only noses lightly along the filly and Roach’s necks before allowing himself to be steered into his stall, Geralt relaxes minutely. Yeah, he better stay away if he knows what’s good for him. 

Geralt’s attention is pulled in an entirely different direction when he hears a low whine at the stable door. Turning, Geralt perks up at the sight of Jaskier sniffing the air as he peers at the filly. “Hey Jaskier, wanna meet Roach Jr?” Geralt asks, half hoping that name would get him an affronted look. When he gets a tilted head instead, Geralt blows out a sigh. Well, it’s better than Jaskier running away again. Sidling through the door, the shifter makes his way to where the filly is curled up beside Roach. Jaskier scents her before turning to Roach as well, like he’s trying to match up their smells. Nuzzling them both lightly, Jaskier turns to Marya, rubbing his head along her legs. 

Beaming down at him, Marya settles on her knees to run her hands through his fur. “It’s good to see you Julian,” she murmurs. At the name, Jaskier releases a low rumble, pressing against her more insistently. Of course. He’s been Julian far longer than Jaskier. It stands to reason that he may respond to that name more. Geralt tries his best to smother the hint of jealousy that rises up at how relaxed Jaskier seems to be with Marya. He’s known her longer so obviously Jaskier will connect with Marya sooner and easier. Just- Geralt misses his mate. 

Now that they’ve gotten Jaskier reacclimated with the indoors, the pack room has been put back together. And as they pile into the room, for the second night in a row, Jaskier curls up beside Marya. Geralt watches on, biting his cheek to keep from shifting and forcing himself between the mother and son. He should be elated that Jaskier isn’t remaining on the outskirts of the pack, not jealous that he’s not getting to cuddle the shifter. 

Geralt is tugged out of his brooding when a ball goes sailing over his head. Without a thought, Geralt shifts to race after it, finding Marya and Kamil on his heels. _Mine_ Geralt growls, pouncing on the ball only to have Kamil slide in and steal it from under his paws, the sly fox. While Marya and Kamil tussle for it, Geralt turns to where Jaskier is watching them, head cocked and ears twitching. 

Recalling what Jaskier did to encourage Geralt to play when he was more wolf than man, the witcher-wolf trots over to his mate. Bowing before him, Geralt wags his tail. _Play_ he rumbles, sending memories of wrestling matches and games of fetch to Jaskier. 

The shifter’s head tilts in the other direction. _Play?_ a hesitant voice asks. Geralt falls onto his rump, heart thudding and maw open with shock. Holy fucking shit. Holy fucking shit. Holy fucking shit. Geralt forces himself to take several slow, deep breaths to keep himself from pouncing on his mate with elation. 

When he feels like he has a firm enough control on himself, Geralt rises again, inching closer. _Play_ Geralt encourages, nodding to where Marya and Kamil are scrambling for a second ball Lambert just lobbed. Creeping up to Geralt, Jaskier noses along his neck with more purpose than before. _Mate_ Geralt can’t help but rumble. 

Blue eyes blink up at him. _Mate?_ Jaskier confirms. _Mate play?_ Unable to control himself any longer, Geralt rubs against Jaskier’s head, nibbling lightly on his ear. Gods, he’s waited to hear that voice, waited to hear that title, for weeks now. Hearing it again is like a soothing balm on a wound that's been festering for far too long.

 _Good mate_ Geralt croons, grinning to himself when he sees Jaskier wave his tail tentatively. A third ball is thrown and this time Jaskier’s ears prick with interest, eyes lighting up. _Play_ Geralt nods, racing for the ball. When he sees a familiar blur of russet fur beside him, Geralt’s heart soars. He’s getting his mate back. Fuck, he’s getting him back. 

For the next week or so, Marya, Geralt, and Kamil spend nearly the entirety of their days shifted when Geralt isn’t tending to Roach or the filly. Though it overwhelms Jaskier to be around them all at once, when he tentatively approaches one of them they gently send him memories, emotions, thoughts, to help draw him out further. Just like Geralt when he was cursed, they still only get errant thoughts with no solid emotions or memories from Jaskier, almost like he wasn’t a shifter anymore but merely a wolf. “What if that’s what happened?” Geralt asks Yennefer, pacing in the room she’s set up for a project the sorceress has been working on.

“You do realize you’re naked, right?” Yennefer asks idly as she scowls at some kind of charm she’s fiddling with. “Not that I’m complaining of course.” Geralt blinks down at himself. Huh. Apparently he is. Geralt constantly gave Jaskier shit when he would mindlessly shift in public spaces, unaware or heedless of the fact that he was bare for all to see. Jaskier once tried defending himself by explaining that when you’re part wolf, modesty is a harder concept to wrap your head around. Plus, it’s just easy to forget that one of your forms requires clothes. Geralt probably has some apologies to make to his mate. 

After an internal debate, Geralt says fuck it. Nothing Yennefer hasn’t seen before. “Well? You didn’t answer my question,” he grits out. 

Spinning in her chair to look at him with exasperation Yennefer says with forced patience, “If he had simply been turned into a wolf then you would’ve been able to communicate with him the entire time. The more likely scenario is what Marya said: he retreated far into his mind to protect himself. In a safe place surrounded by pack, Jaskier is easing himself back out.” Waving her hand lazily she continues, “Picture a turtle hiding in its shell. The turtle doesn’t magically turn into an armadillo,” she scoffs before turning back to her work. 

Geralt ceases his pacing, running Yennefer’s words through his head. Right- the fact that they couldn’t communicate with him at first nullifies the possibility that he’s only fully wolf now. “Thank you Yen,” Geralt sighs with relief. As she carelessly waves him off Geralt lingers for a moment. “No-really. Thank you for helping me bring him back.” 

At this Yennefer turns to Geralt with a shadowed expression. “I know you would do the same if I had someone to love who had been hurt,” she mutters, not meeting his eyes. Geralt feels an odd twisting in his chest. He knows it was best that he and Yennefer ended things and he never thought he could be as happy as he is with Jaskier, but Geralt can’t help but feel guilty that Yennefer doesn’t have anyone in her life. Especially around so many other couples, it must be difficult for her to handle. Nodding wordlessly, Geralt slips out and leaves Yennefer to her work. 

When he rejoins the rest of the pack with clothes on this time, it’s to find Jaskier wrestling playfully with Dandelion as he’s done countless times before he was kidnapped. Smiling softly at the display, Geralt walks up beside Lambert who seems to be arguing the merits of hiding knives under a pillow with Ciri. “Ciri, you’re not putting any knives under your pillow,” Geralt remarks distractedly, grinning as Jaskier dramatically flops onto his back.

“Butt outta this old man, this is between me and the squirt,” Lambert grouches. Rolling his eyes, Geralt shifts and heads to the cat and shifter, gently lifting Dandelion from where he’s perched triumphantly on top of Jaskier so Geralt can snuffle at Jaskier’s neck. _Mate_ Geralt rumbles, sending pulses of adoration to the shifter. 

Geralt’s head shoots up, eyes wide as a tendril of love brushes against his mind. Doubling down, Geralt eagerly returns the emotion, tail wagging as he waits to see how Jaskier will react. Jaskier leans up to nuzzle against Geralt’s face as he shares a blurry memory of the two of them tussling together. _Play?_ Jaskier asks hopefully, blue eyes shining. 

Plopping on top of Jaskier with a lupine grin, Geralt licks the shifter’s nose. _Play_ he agrees happily. With a timid growl, Jaskier flips them over, gnawing at Geralt’s ear. Releasing an amused rumble, Geralt wriggles from under his mate, backing up as he gives a playful bow. Once Jaskier returns the motion, the two of them race at each other, tumbling and rolling on the floor with gleeful yips. As they wrestle, more emotions filter through- joy, excitement, affection- and each one fills Geralt with even more hope. Now that Jaskier is communicating like an ordinary shifter, they’re that much closer to having him shift back. 

*******

It happens in a fairly anti-climactic way. It’s been about a month since everyone arrived now and they’re all spread across the dining hall when Marya comes out with biscuits. “Now Lambert gets last turn at this batch since he keeps sneaking into the kitchen to steal some when my back is turned,” Marya announces with a glare at the Wolf.

“Fuck yes more biscuits,” Leon says fervently, jumping up from where he was studying a schematic for his latest project. 

“Biscuits?” a raspy voice whispers, and as one the entire room turns to where Jaskier is seated at the hearth, blinking and completely naked. Human. 

_”Jaskier,”_ Geralt breathes, rushing over to his mate before skidding to a stop when Jaskier flinches. Falling to his knees several metres away, feeling like there’s an impenetrable gap between them, Geralt digs his fingers into his legs to keep from reaching out to Jaskier. “Hey little-little lark,” Geralt murmurs, soaking up the image of the mussed chestnut hair and lean figure of his mate. “Welcome back.” 

Jaskier stares at his surrounding pack members with wide eyes. “What the fuck?” he croaks. 

Geralt swallows, glancing at Marya for support. Turning a meaningful look at the rest of the pack, Marya waits for everyone to file out before approaching Jaskier. “What do you remember pup?” she asks gently. 

Flicking his gaze between Marya and Geralt, Jaskier draws his legs up before wrapping his arms around himself protectively, expression troubled. Chastising himself for his delayed response, Geralt tears off his tunic and offers it up to Jaskier. Reaching across the divide, Jaskier’s fingers brush gently along Geralt’s as he grasps the clothing. Their eyes meet for a fleeting moment before Jaskier averts his gaze again. “Thank you,” he whispers. As Jaskier slips on the oversized tunic, silence falls upon the trio. Geralt bites his cheek until it bleeds. It’s taking everything in his power not to draw Jaskier into his arms and hold him tight until Geralt is convinced that he won’t slip through his fingers again. Touching his chest, Jaskier frowns. “What happened to my pendant?” he asks. 

Tapping his knee rapidly Geralt licks his lips as he steadies himself to catch his wolf up. “We have it safe but didn’t want to try putting it back on you.” 

Jaskier’s brows draw up in a frown. “Why not?” 

Scooting forward, Marya repeats her question, more forcefully this time. “Julian, what do you remember?" 

Flicking a confused glance at his mother, Jaskier’s frown deepens and his eyes grow distant before widening with horror. Placing a trembling hand around his neck, Jaskier gulps, “I-I was held by that mage, Stregobor.” Those luminous blue eyes dull, as Jaskier shrinks in on himself. “He collared me. Had it linked to his magic.” At a reminder of the torture his mate endured at the hands of that monster, Geralt finds his control slipping and forces himself to take slow, deep breaths. 

When Jaskier begins shaking, eyes filling with tears, Geralt risks shifting closer. “We got you out little-little lark,” Geralt says gently. 

Eyes shining with unshed tears, Jaskier looks up at him. “He called me the name you gave me. It was so cruel coming from his lips,” he whispers faintly. And like a dam breaking, Jaskier begins to sob, burying his face in his knees. 

Unable to stay away while his mate is in so much pain, Geralt bridges that final gap between them, breathing out a relieved sigh when Jaskier throws himself into Geralt’s arms. “I got you my lark,” Geralt murmurs in Jaskier’s ear, brushing a hand through tangled hair grown long over the weeks he’s been shifted. 

“You’re safe my sweet,” Marya echoes, rubbing Jaskier’s back slowly. And as he feels his mate slowly relax in his arms, the weeks of worry and grief Geralt has been carrying with him blows away like parchment in wind. Jaskier’s back, Stregobor’s dead, and their pack is here. Everything will be okay.

Once Jaskier has calmed enough and Marya and Geralt have caught him up, the rest of the pack are let back in. Though Jaskier is still far from his usual exuberant self, he cracks a smile at Lambert’s snarky comments, Kamil’s tight hug, Eskel’s hand ruffled through his hair. He hugs Ciri especially close, grinning softly at something she whispers in her ear. 

But when Eskel makes a remark about the newest addition to the pack, that's when they see a glimmer of the Jaskier they know. Whirling around to Geralt, Jaskier props his hands on his hips, sky blue flinty. “Geralt of Rivia, you are under **no** circumstances naming a sweet innocent baby foal _Roach Jr,”_ he growls. Smile dancing on his lips, Geralt envelops Jaskier into an embrace. He missed his mate’s theatrics. “Unhand me you oaf!” Jaskier complains with mock outrage. “I will be heard!” When Geralt noses along Jaskier’s jaw, the shifter swallows. “Though if you can find a way to silence me you’re welcome to try,” he whispers hopefully. 

Accepting the challenge, Geralt tilts his head to draw Jaskier into a languid kiss, and the bard immediately melts into it. Geralt has to bite back a whimper as Jaskier runs fingers through his hair and down his back. Gods, he missed this. He missed just holding his mate, watching him smile and laugh, rolling his eyes at his drama. Fuck, not to mention his music. It’ll be good to have the keep fill with song and light once again. It'll be good to have the other half of his soul back. 

*******

After another week where Jaskier grew more acclimated with being on two legs again, the first pack members are set to depart. As much as they all wish to stay at the keep to help Jaskier recover, they can’t deny the responsibilities they have, whether at a forge or on the Path. Before Lambert and Aiden can head out however, Yennefer comes striding down the courtyard. “A parting gift,” she calls, Ewa trailing behind her. “So I don’t have to exhaust myself tracking you all the next time one of you oafs get in trouble, Ewa and I have designed an addition for your medallions.” Shooting an approving smile to Ciri Yennefer nods, “Smart girl you have there.” 

While Ciri preens, Yennefer grabs Lambert’s medallion, ignoring his outraged yelp, as she places something small to the back of it, repeating the gesture on Aiden’s. “If you are ever in trouble, press your finger against this for 3 seconds and it will serve as a beacon to your location. Every device is linked so if one of you engages a distress signal we can all find you. They also have locators so I can track down your signal even if you haven’t activated yours but we need your help." 

Yennefer is finishing sealing the devices to Ciri and Marya's gifted pendants before frowning at Jaskier and Kamil. “I need something of yours I can attach them to. Leon and Ewa have their arm cuffs but neither of you wear any jewelry.” Though it doesn't pass her lips, the word "anymore" hangs in the air awkwardly. Jaskier still hasn’t asked for his pendant back, and Geralt hasn’t pushed for it. It’s going to take awhile for the shifter to be comfortable with something around his neck again. 

Removing the bow Eskel made from his back, Kamil offers it up. “I don’t go anywhere without this,” he remarks, and with a firm nod, Yennefer seals her device to it. 

“Will my sword work?” Jaskier asks quietly, eyes fearful. 

Yennefer opens her mouth as though to protest before sighing. “Sure bardling, that would work fine,” she agrees with a sad smile. 

Geralt is speechless, staring at the tiny device no bigger than his thumb now attached to his medallion. “This is what you’ve been working on,” he breathes, eyes burning as he looks up at her. 

Carefully avoiding his gaze, Yennefer does a sweep to check that everyone’s beacon is secure. “It’ll save me a headache next time one of you is kidnapped,” she mutters. “A two person search party is pitiful.” 

She releases a small “oof” when Jaskier drags Yennefer into a tight hug. “Thank you Yennefer,” he says fiercely. 

Hands fluttering, after a brief hesitation Yennefer pats Jaskier on the back awkwardly. “Yes, well, can’t have Geralt moping around the keep now, can we?” 

Drawing away with a soft grin Jaskier teases, “Admit it, you like me.”

“As much as I like cold tea and burnt toast."

“Exactly!” Jaskier exclaims gleefully. “You find me bearable!” 

Scowling, Yennefer spins away from him. “Don’t let it get to your head bard,” she mumbles. And seeing that mischievous smirk cross Jaskier’s face again-fuck. Geralt knows that Jaskier isn’t fully healed just because he’s finally shifted back, but it certainly feels like they’ve weathered most of the storm. And by the gods Geralt will shelter Jaskier from anything that comes next.


End file.
